


Feelings are Tricky Things

by Ineffable_Plans



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Gabriel is a mess, Heaven is a mess, M/M, Memory Loss, Pining, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-05-12 00:13:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ineffable_Plans/pseuds/Ineffable_Plans
Summary: Post-canon. Aziraphale and Crowley have continued on like the armageddont never happened at all. Except they both went through a lot, and they know it. They've been ignoring and repressing feelings for a long time, and it was all bound to come out sooner or later. Their body swap trick couldn't keep them save forever, someone was bound to figure it out. And the punishment this time might be even worse than a simple death.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I'm beta-less (Anyone interested?) so please be kind and ignore a few mistakes here and there. Also, I'm kind of writing this on the fly and while I have a general idea where it is going, I'm not entirely sure it's a worthwhile journey. So please, if you do like this and would like me to continue let me know.

 

 

 

It had been 4 months, 2 weeks, 3 days, 17 minutes, and 42 seconds since the Armageddon had been averted. Heaven and Hell had mostly been keeping to themselves, as agreed, leaving Crowley and Aziraphale to experience the taste of sweet freedom for the first time. No one appeared randomly in the bookshop (loudly) claiming to need help buying pornography. All radios and electronics played only what they were meant to, uninterrupted by an angry voice barking out directions and threats. Well, the Bentley still played those Queen songs over and over regardless what one was actually trying to listen to, but that was perfectly normal. It was as normal as things ever were at any rate.  
  
  
Crawley and Aziraphale had fallen into a comfortable, if slightly boring, routine. Without direct orders from above or below they really didn’t have anything that they were expressly required to do, but old habits die hard and so they found themselves continuing on much the same as always. Aziraphale gently nudging people towards the direction of all that was good and right (though sometimes managing to mess that up quite spectacularly) and Crowley mostly focused on inconveniencing others as much as possible. He did stay away from fiddling with the phone lines after that bit him in the rear, but if one visited the area they would almost always been warned about what must be a group of irritating children who found it humorous to let the air out of peoples tires randomly. It was highly recommended to check one’s tires before trying to drive, even if you had only been away from the car for a short time.  
  
  
Aziraphale was, if possible, even more possessive of his books because- in his view- they had survived the apocalypse and must be preserved. Never mind that they apocalypse never actually happened as such, his store had technically burned down, so the books were given a heightened state of distinction and protected at all costs. That meant he was even less inclined to allow the wayward customer access to his store, and had updated his opening hours to reflect this. And then he continued to change them, weekly, just in case.  
  
  
Yes, things were quite lovely all in all. It was as if nothing had happened at all, thanks to Adam. Aziraphale wondered if Adam recalled anything that had happened. Did anyone remember? Doubtful. Adam had appeared fully human in the end and humans had a tendency to ignore or explain anything inconvenient away. In the end everyone had gone their separate ways. At least, Crowley and Aziraphale had. Neither of them had been in contact with the children, the witch finders, or the witches (Well, one witch and one medium/ex-jezebel) since. Aziraphale did hope they were all ok.  
  
  
Aziraphale set down the book he had been reading, unable to concentrate. Something was bothering him, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. It was there, bouncing around in the back of his head but he just couldn’t put it to words. He had been reading one of the many (terribly incorrect) prophecy books he owned when something had made his mind wander back. He honestly tried not to think of that whole time period much at all, thank you very much.  
Still, _there was something-_  
  
  
The sound of the door opening snapped Aziraphale from his reverie and he quickly stood up, ready to scare away whatever misguided human stopped by. Though he did hope it wasn’t those men in suits again. It had been a long time, but he was rather hoping he wouldn’t have to miracle anyone away. Truth be told he really had no idea where the last chaps had been sent. He just wanted them away and they away they went.  
  
  
“Hey, angel,” A familiar voice called out. Aziraphale felt every muscle relax like a soldier standing down from war.  
  
  
“Crowley,” He beamed, “Thank goodness, I thought you were a customer.”  
  
  
“Hard to have customers when you aren’t ever actually open you know. Why do you bother with a book shop anyway?” Crowley asked for, what was clearly, the millionth time.  
  
  
“I like my bookshop! And I do, on occasion, sell a book or two,” Aziraphale shrugged.  
  
  
“Right, sure,” Crowley rolled his eyes, “You ready then? Still going to dinner?”  
  
  
“I-yes. Yes of course. I just lost track of the time. However did it get so late already? I was reading a book…” Aziraphale trailed off.  
  
  
“Yeah, that sounds like you. C’mon then, let’s go.”  
  
  
Aziraphale nodded and put on his jacket, following Crowley outside and locking the shop. He shook his head a bit, trying to clear his thoughts. The demon had made some smart remark or another and Aziraphale had missed it.  
  
  
“You alright, angel?” Crowley asked, concerned but trying to be cool about it. He was still technically a demon. Even if he was mostly retired. Even if his best friend was an angel, “Hit your head on a particularly hard book or something?”  
  
  
“Yes. No. I’m fine,” Aziraphale said with a smile, “You know how I am when I really get into a book.”  
  
  
Crowley looked like he wanted to argue with him a bit, but Aziraphale’s smile seemed genuine and was very good at calming down any real concerns. Crowley nodded. “Ritz?”

 

 

 

The Ritz had been busy of course, but miraculously their table was always available when they needed it. Aziraphale had been reminded of a play he had seen once and excitedly recounted a good part of it to Crowley who expected it was really one of those things you had to be there to enjoy. Still, he drank his wine and allowed the angel to tell him all about it. When the food arrived and Aziraphale was busy giving in to a bit of gluttonous temptation Crowley suggested that perhaps Aziraphale would be interested in updating his knowledge when it comes to plays.  
  
  
“Whatever do you mean?” Aziraphale asked curiously, “I’m very well-informed.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Crowley said with a smirk, “On Shakespeare and all the old stuff. You really should catch up. There’s a lot more out there now. Might be worth going to see one or two.”  
  
  
“I have,” Aziraphale replied, squirming in his seat uncomfortably, “In the past I mean. I tried a newer play. A musical. It wasn’t- it wasn’t to my taste.”  
  
  
“The Sound of Music doesn’t count. I know you hate that,”  
  
  
“No, that isn’t what I meant. I went to a proper theater and everything,” Aziraphale frowned, “It was after you… After I gave you the, er… Right. Late 60s. I had gone over to America. They were having this lovely movement there. I mean, they had that war going on too, that was pretty bad. But the counter movement was all peace and love and-“  
  
  
“You went over to America after that?” Crowley asked softly, “Why?”  
  
  
“Well, of course there was so much going on. They needed a few blessings here and there,”  
  
  
“So you just _left,_ ” Crowley grumbled, staring at his glass, “You gave me a thermos of holy water and then left the country.”  
  
  
“I couldn’t stay,” Aziraphale said, his voice cracking slightly, “I-I thought you were going to… you know. And I knew if you wanted to I wasn’t going to be able to change your mind. You’re quite stubborn when you set your mind to it. And I couldn’t watch it happen. I failed you.”  
  
  
Their waiter came by and quietly refilled wine glasses, leaving without a word. Both Aziraphale and Crowley were silent, searching for the right words. Crowley didn’t do feelings. Or at least, he didn’t like talking about them. Aziraphale most certainly did do feelings, but after 6000 years on the planet he still wasn’t able to properly put them into words and even if he could Crowley wouldn’t want to hear it anyway. Unspoken was the best way, really. Aziraphale knew that Crowley cared to some degree, no one goes through what they went through and can pretend not to care at all. But both of them were rather good at boxing up whatever feeling they had, unexamined, and storing them far away.  
“So,” Crowley cleared his throat, “You went to see a play. Which one?”  
  
  
“I think it was called Wigs?”  
  
  
“Wigs? I’ve never heard of that. Strange name for a play, that-” Crowley froze for a moment before grinning widely, “Do you mean Hair?”  
  
  
“Oh yes! That’s the one. Very strange. I don’t think the nudity was necessary. It was…unexpected,” Aziraphale said with a sigh. He looked at Crowley, who was now trying very hard not to laugh, “It isn’t funny. I’m not sure I’d call that real theater at any rate.”  
  
  
“You really do need to move on in to the next century, angel,” Crowley replied, obviously enjoying this all far too much, “I could suggest a few that you might actually find yourself enjoying, even if they’re aren’t all Shakespeare.”  
Aziraphale smiled. “That sounds lovely.”  
  
  
Crowley felt warmth spread throughout his body.

 

 

 

After dinner they had gone for a walk, both careful to avoid conversation that could be described as the least bit meaningful. It was a dance they both excelled at, and had done, for several thousand years. Back at the book shop Crowley said goodnight and hurried home. He hadn’t been tending to his plants enough recently and he needed to remedy that quickly before they thought they could do whatever they wanted. Aziraphale entered his book shop alone, slowly closing the door and locking it behind him.  
  
  
As much as things had been the same as always there were marked differences as well. Aziraphale sighed. It was little things that no one else would likely notice. They had both been a bit more relaxed since the averted apocalypse. They didn’t have to worry about best behavior or whether anyone would approve since no one was watching anyway. They both, even Crowley, smiled more. Breathed easier. There was no need for coded messages about which meeting spot to visit. No reason to sit apart on the bus.  
  
  
Aziraphale thought about that bus ride back. He had agreed to go to Crowley’s flat that night. It had been such a long, long day. Aziraphale rarely slept, but even he had been tempted. Crowley, who was quite used to sleeping, could barely keep his eyes open. A few minutes into the ride and Aziraphale felt a soft pressure against his side and shoulder. Crowley had given in to temptation it seemed, and fallen asleep right there. Aziraphale watched as he slept. The creases on his face smoothed out, relaxed. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile. Crowley could be a right pain when he set his mind to it, sure. But he had a good heart even if he wouldn’t admit it. The angel shifted so his demon counterpart could rest a bit easier and then looked up, watching those around them warily. Aziraphale had been more afraid than he liked to admit that the forces of Heaven or Hell or both would come after them right then. Thankfully, no one had shown up. They spent the night at Crowley’s flat planning how to survive what they knew was coming thanks to a very convenient prophecy.  
  
  
Aziraphale picked up the book he had been reading earlier and tried to find his place. He wasn’t quite sure where he had left off; his mind had been wandering so much. Armageddon. The bus. And as always, at the center of it, Crowley. Not that it was so strange, they had been together for ages. Of course Crowley was always around. Not together, not like that. He thought quickly. The demon was a frustrating conundrum for Aziraphale. Of course he loved him. Angels love, it’s what they do. But even Aziraphale had to admit that when it came to Crowley it was…different somehow. If he was honest with himself, he knew it had been different for a very long time.  
  
  
_It doesn’t matter._ Aziraphale thought with a sense of finality. _He’s my best friend. We’ve agreed on that much. It won’t change things to wish otherwise._  
  
  
He turned to a chapter he had already read and sighed.

 

 

 

Back at his flat, Crowley wasn’t much better off. He had enjoyed his time with the angel, but he still found himself angry for some reason. So he yelled at his plants and had a drink. Then he yelled at his plants some more. The poor things were shaking with fear and confusion. He seemed more upset than usual.  
  
  
Crowley resigned himself to sitting in bed, wine glass in hand, grumbling to himself and just generally being a bit miserable. It was frustrating because he wasn’t entirely sure why he was in a bad mood, and that just made the bad mood even worse somehow. Dinner had been pleasant enough. They hadn’t even really argued over anything. There was that bit of unpleasantness about Aziraphale going to America for a bit, but… Crowley frowned. He understood now why Aziraphale was so nervous about the holy water thing. Crowley had never said he would use it for that purpose, but that was a possible option if things got bad enough. The angel seemed really upset about the whole thing. Crowley had gotten over it all some time ago. And really, that holy water came in really handy when it came down to it.  
  
  
He finished what was in his glass and reached for the bottle. Armageddon had been averted. They should be relaxing and enjoying life, but no. Angel had to go and get himself all worked up about something that happened decades ago and now Crowley felt bad, too. Crowley mentally reached for the box he shoved it all in. All those feelings and wants and desires he had been properly ignoring for literally thousands of years. He had been done in right from the beginning really. Stupid angel giving away his stupid sword. _Who does that anyway?_ Crowley thought as he began drinking straight from the bottle. Aziraphale. Quite possibly one of the kindest, sweetest souls he had ever known. Even with that little tinge of bastard underneath. Crowley had been interested in him right from that moment. Oh, it wasn’t love, not yet. But it was enough to keep him seeking out the Principality throughout the years until it really did turn into love. _Should’a known better._  
  
  
Early on, in humanity’s beginning years, it was apparent that there were a few very simple ways to tempt them to Hell’s side. All the basic sins, really. Greed, Envy, Gluttony. They were so very simple. But Lust had thrown Crowley for a loop at first. He just didn’t understand. Couldn’t understand, really. How do you tempt someone in that way if you don’t understand what drives them? The easy answer is you don’t. There were quite a few (spectacularly) failed attempts by Crowley. They were…especially humiliating. Afterwards it was suggested to him that he ‘make the effort’ so that he could understand what lust was and actually do his job.  
  
  
It had worked. Hell was quite pleased with the amount of temptations Crowley had accomplished with Lust. All in all it was a job well done. The only problem was that Crowley hadn’t anticipated the effort having any real sort of effect on him. He understood now, but that didn’t mean he had to act on it. But he really hadn’t counted on Aziraphale. Hadn’t counted on how easy it was to fall in love with someone if you just made a bit of effort here and there. Before he knew it he was doing stupid things like popping up in a Church during the Blitz to save a stupid angel and his stupid books.  
  
  
Crowley finished the bottle and sighed. “Fuck.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

Hastur was an angry, bitter demon. Had been for some time, really. But the last few months had been even worse. Watching Crowley _bathe_  in holy water and just waltz out of Hell like nothing happened was the single most demoralizing moment of his existence. _That bastard killed Ligur and got away with it_. It wasn’t right. He had spent the last four months trying to figure out how. It simply hadn’t made sense. Crowley was a demon, and demons do not just take baths in holy water and ask for rubber ducks. He had to have _done_ something.

Heaven and Hell rarely worked together, but when it came to punishing Crowley and Aziraphale they had made an exception. As far as he knew, neither side had really been in communication since that day. There simply wasn’t a reason, and besides they were all still itching for a fight. Hastur had been rather surprised then when he found out that the angel hadn’t died either. He had gone back up to Earth briefly to handle a bit of work that Hell would normally have assigned Crowley when he saw the angel, alive as anything, walking down the street.

 _How is this possible?_ _Crowley survived holy water, and Aziraphale survived demon’s fire? There’s no way. One of them surviving was bad enough. Both of them surviving the one thing guaranteed to destroy them was just highly unlikely. Unless it wasn’t really them. I need to report this to Lord Beelzebub._

_***_

 

Crowley woke up with an excruciating headache and a mouth that felt fresh from the Sahara desert. He opened and closed his mouth a few times and winced. He should have sobered up before he went to sleep. Crowley rolled, rather inelegantly, out of bed, knocking the bottle to the floor, and stumbled to the bathroom. _Well,_ he thought looking in the mirror, _you look like shit._ He splashed some cool water on his face and sighed. He could just miracle it, but the water felt nice and there was no reason to start wasting perfectly good miracles so early in the morning. He grabbed a towel to dry his face and then immediately put his sunglasses back on. Somehow he just felt better with this small piece of protection on.

He wandered around his flat for a bit, alternating between yelling at his plants and looking (just a bit longingly) at a particularly interesting statue he owned. He eventually settled enough to sit down and watch a bit of telly. Golden Girls reruns were on, and he simply never tired of them.

 

***

 

“That’s the only possible explanation,” Hastur said with a bit of finality, “We know they’ve been working together. Closer than we ever realized, unfortunately. It was a switch the whole time.”

“That doezz make a certain amount of senzz,” she buzzed contemplatively.

“He has never been properly punished, Lord Beelzebub,” Hastur pressed, trying not to sound as whiney and petulant as he felt. It was a bit like telling your mum that your most annoying sibling had gotten away with something rather unfairly and needed to be dealt with, “I could go…retrieve him if you’d like. They aren’t expecting it now, thinking they’ve gotten away with it all.”

Hastur was hopeful. Crowley and Aziraphale couldn’t still be off parading around as each other at this point. It had been months! And even if he did manage to grab the angel by mistake, well, he needed to be punished as well.

Lord Beelzebub seemed to be thinking about it. “Yeszz,” She replied slowly, “Do it. But do not go alonezz. I do not want anymore mistakeszzz. I want him alive. Bring him to me.”

Hastur grinned wickedly, “Yes, Lord Beelzebub.” _He was finally going to make that traitor pay_.

 

***

 

Aziraphale had mostly shaken himself out of it and was busily dusting the shop. He preferred to do this bit the human way. Miracling would have been faster and easier, but it wouldn’t have given him the opportunity to check on each of his books carefully, rearrange them as necessary, and occasionally stop altogether to read a bit of one he hadn’t picked up for far too long. All in all the day had been a wonderful success. Only two customers had managed to get into the shop during it’s very limited opening times, and neither had purchased a thing. The shop was tidy, his books were safe, and Aziraphale happily locked the door before settling down with a cup of cocoa. He’d managed to not think of Crowley (nearly) the entire day, but it was nearing dinner time and he knew the demon would be by shortly. Aziraphale had been eyeing up a little Greek restaurant that opened down the street. It would be nice to go somewhere a bit different, and since Crowley rarely actually ate the food, Aziraphale was sure he wouldn’t mind.

And so he waited. And waited. And waited a bit more. It had gotten rather late, and Crowley still did not appear. In the 6000 years before the armageddont this would not have bothered Aziraphale in the slightest. Sometimes they would go decades, even centuries, without seeing one another. But now… Well, things were different now. _Perhaps he’s sleeping_. Aziraphale knew how much Crowley enjoyed his sleep. It wouldn’t be the first time the demon slept though days (or decades). Aziraphale sighed. He preferred the company, but it looked like he would be dining alone tonight.

Aziraphale left the bookshop and tried not to think much on how dependent he’d become on Crowley. It made him think about other things as well and that just would not do.

 

***

 

Gabriel stood like a statue. He stared at the ball of swirling blues and whites and greens in front of him. _Earth_. He was not impressed. It was, after all, just a small part of a much bigger plan. Or at least that’s what he had thought. Now Gabriel wasn’t quite sure what this strange planet full of strange humans was meant for. He had received the message from down below. Gabriel knew what Crowley and Aziraphale had done. This information should have been the confirmation that he needed. Aziraphale needed to die for what he had done. He had ruined the Great Plan!

 _No,_ Gabriel thought with a sigh.

It wasn’t that simple. Ever since the Armageddon-that-wasn’t, Gabriel had been in something of existential crisis. All those millennia working towards the Great Plan, only to have it all fall apart. Was it part of the Ineffable Plan? They had tried to kill Aziraphale and failed. Was that just bad luck, or was that part of the Ineffable Plan as well? Gabriel didn’t know. He had never questioned himself or his decisions before, but now found he couldn’t make the tiniest decision without wondering if it was the right one.

He really couldn’t be bothered with hunting down Aziraphale at this point. He was far too busy trying to figure out what they were supposed to be doing up in Heaven now. As far as Gabriel was concerned, Aziraphale did not exist. He was not to be mentioned or brought up. Paperwork still being a thing, Heaven’s clerks had learned quickly that it was better to just deal with it themselves when it came to Aziraphale. If Aziraphale used a few more miracles than he ought then they should absolutely, under no circumstances, ask Gabriel about it. So they simply took turns filling out Aziraphale’s paperwork for him and pretending nothing was wrong.

 

***

 

 

Aziraphale had had quite enough thank you. He had tried to be patient about it. They were, after all, ageless beings who had already lived for over 6000 years. He was not going to sit at home and pine. At least, not for long. Crowley had been gone for two weeks now and though that had been normal in the past, it was certainly not normal now. Enough was enough. Crowley wasn’t even answering his phone. It was just rude!

Aziraphale decided to go to Crowley’s flat. Surely he had slept long enough now. This was really getting out of hand. Aziraphale had accepted that they were never going to be together in _that way_ but Crowley was still his best friend for Heaven’s sake. He knocked on the door and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And this was ridiculous! Aziraphale miracled the door open and stepped in tentatively. Perhaps he was still asleep?

“Crowley?” He called out hesitantly.

He closed the door behind him and slowly walked through Crowley’s flat. It was eerily quiet. The flat had always seemed a bit empty for Aziraphale’s tastes, but it was tastefully decorated at least. _Well,_ Aziraphale though, _except for that statue_.

Aziraphale blushed a little and avoided looking directly at the statue. It didn’t look quite like fighting to him. He continued through the flat to Crowley’s bedroom, expecting to see the demon passed out starfish style on the unnecessarily large bed, but it was empty. Aziraphale frowned. It had been months since they’d heard from either of their head offices _Ex-head offices_ Aziraphale mentally corrected. Surely that was all behind them now.

Crowley’s plants were looking, well, good. He always did take good care of them.

“Soil is a bit dry though,” Aziraphale frowned and grabbed the mister, “There, that’s better now. I’m sure he’ll be back soon to take care of you.”

The plants shook with fear.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said with surprise, “No need for that! You are such beautiful, healthy  things. I’m sure Crowley will be quite happy with you.”

Aziraphale smiled gently at them and put the spray bottle down. He looked up just in time to see a figure lunge towards him, grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pushing him up against the wall.

“Crowley!” Aziraphale beamed, “That’s a rather more aggressive hello than necessary.”

“Who are you and why are you in my flat?” Crowley snarled.

Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure as he had never personally experienced it himself before, but he thought this might actually be what those humans meant when they said they felt their heart break in two.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are <3 but I would really appreciate some comments and feedback!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, sorry. Wanted to add a bit so it wasn't on *such* a cliff-hanger. Enjoy!

** Two Weeks Earlier **

 

                Crowley chuckled to himself as he watched the telly. He enjoyed a lot of shows out there (in fact, many were his. Every single reality tv show for example), but none of them were ever as enjoyable as Golden Girls. Not that he would admit to that, but it was true all the same. He had been lounging in from of the television when the actresses on screen were replaced with a couple very angry demons. Crowley immediately bolted up and went into full panic mode.

                “Hey, guys,” He attempted weakly, “How are things? Wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.”

                “Thought you got away with it then?” sneered a demon he was not familiar with, “it took us a bit, but we know what you did. And now you’re done.”

                Crowley wasn’t going to hang around to find out what else they wanted to tell him. He needed to get out, _now_.

                _I’ve got to tell Aziraphale. We’re in trouble, we’re-_

“Crowley,” he could hear the sneer in Hastur’s voice coming from behind him.

                There was a loud thud, sharp pain, and darkness.

 

***

 

                “Should we contact Michael?” Hastur asked with barely concealed excitement, “Ask for the holy water again?”

                “No,” Beelzebub said, “I won’t be embarrassed again. Even if it did work this time, we can find a much more useful method of punishment for Crowley this time.”

                “We don’t need him!” Hastur argued, “Better to get rid of him. It’s no more than he deserves for killing one of us.”

                “He’s been on Earth from the beginning. He knows things,” Beelzebub explained calmed, “He can be useful. We just need to…reprogram him a little.”

                “Yes Lord Beelzebub,” Hastur grinned.

 

***

 

                Reprogramming a demon (or an angel for that matter) was not a simple task. It also wasn’t one that was used very often. There was a lot of trial and error, and mistakes were certainly made. Not that Hastur worried about that, because it was incredibly painful to whoever had to undergo the procedure and right now that meant Crowley. It meant going in and forcing compliance. In Crowley’s case, it also meant a fair amount of memory suppression. When Hastur was done with him, Crowley would follow orders as directed for once. No more fraternizing with angels, killing off demons, or destroying perfectly well-planned apocolypses. Crowley would behave as he always should have done. And he wouldn’t remember ever doing otherwise.

                Crowley would then be placed back in his flat, none the wiser.

 

***

 

                When Crowley did finally wake up, he did so to a terrible headache. He didn’t know what he had done to bring it on, but even a miracle only numbed the pain a bit. He walked around his flat in a daze. _How much did I have to drink?_ He wondered. _I don’t even remember drinking. That’s quite the accomplishment._

                It felt like the walls were closing in on him. Crowley grunted at his plants and decided perhaps a bit of tempting and such would make him feel better. He left the flat and looked up and down the street. It was fairly empty, but there were some shops down the way. More people there to tempt, more trouble to get in to. Crowley grinned and started walking.

                It didn’t take him long to start causing a bit of mischief. He still wasn’t feeling quite to snuff, so he kept it fairly small. Three people were easily tempted into petty theft. One gentleman had decided to go out drinking with a pretty girl from work instead of going home to his wife. On top of that, seven cars had flat tires and the local police had nabbed a group of innocent children who happened to be nearby. Crowley ordered a tea from a small shop (without paying of course) and started to walk home. His head was beginning to feel better, but he was still a little weaker than he was comfortable with. Perhaps it was best to head back and sleep for a few days before really getting started with things. Down below had given him some high numbers to reach this month, and he was nothing if not loyal to the cause.

 

** Present Day **

 

                “That’s not funny, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, trying to sound calmer than he was at the moment. Crowley wasn’t exactly being gentle and Aziraphale’s back hurt a bit from being pushed into the wall with such force.

                “Who are you?” Crowley lifted Aziraphale up a touch off his feet, “I won’t ask you again. Why are you in my flat? Heaven sending down spies now?”

                “It’s me-Aziraphale,” he choked out, “My dear boy, what happened? Do you really not remember me?”

                Crowley’s brow furrowed in confusion. If Aziraphale were a spy, he was a pretty bad one. And he looked more hurt than scared. It didn’t matter in the end. There was an _angel_ in his flat. One of the opposition. An enemy. Crowley’s head began to hurt again, his entire body aching with the stress of things he could not remember. He slowly lowered the angel and glared at him.

                “I don’t know you. And you’ve clearly got me confused for someone else. Get out of here. Now,” Crowley hissed as he released the man and pointed at the door.

                “Really Crowley,” Aziraphale started as he brushed off his jacket, “Something has clearly ha-”

                “NOW!” Crowley yelled, trying to ignore the pounding in his head.

                Aziraphale was not normally scared of him, but Crowley was clearly not himself. Aziraphale didn’t feel it was really in his best interests to stick around at that moment. Being discorporated was only going to make everything worse anyway. Aziraphale walked towards the door, paused briefly to look back at Crowley and then stepped outside.

                Crowley put a hand to his head and stumbled towards his bedroom. He would (hopefully) feel better after some rest. He didn’t know why an angel was in his flat. Crowley would have spent more time thinking about it, but all he could focus on was how terribly _sad_ the angel had looked. _Aziraphale_ he thought. _Who are you?_

 

***

 

                Aziraphale for his part was dumbfounded. His mind raced as his feet slowly took him home. It _was_ Crowley, but it also was _not_ Crowley. How could he not remember? It couldn’t be one of Crowley’s tricks. He might be a bit mischievous as times, but he wasn’t cruel. _Never cruel_. Aziraphale had known Crowley for over 6000 years and Crowley was, if possible, kinder than some angels. Of course he would deny it, but it was there. Aziraphale could feel it, he could see it, he…

                The door to the bookshop opened and shut for Aziraphale as he walked in with renewed purpose. This wasn’t something Crowley would do to himself, which meant either Heaven or Hell was responsible. Which meant that one of them had the answer. They had to. Stopping by for a chat down below was a guaranteed death sentence. But maybe, maybe he could still get some information out of someone upstairs.

                Aziraphale pulled the carpet aside and grabbed the candles. _Only one way to find out._

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

     

 

 

 

                If Gabriel hadn’t been acting like himself, well, he wasn’t the only one. The thing was, no one in Heaven had any idea what they were supposed to do now. Metatron was the only one who seemed to be the least bit calm about it all, but then he was the only one God spoke to. The great, ineffable plan. Gabriel didn’t know what Her plan was, but since the Great Plan had rather fallen apart, Heaven didn’t seem to have a real plan to go by. Not one that they knew about at any rate, and that was decidedly _not good_. He had followed a very clear set of blueprints for millennia, but now?

                He sifted through a pile of paperwork, barely looking at it. He wasn’t really sure what he was looking for, but he couldn’t just stand there forever. He needed to force himself back in to it. He was giving half-heartedly approving timecards when a rather flustered low-level Angel walked up to him.

                “G-Gabriel?” She asked, tentatively, “We’ve had a visit.”

                “What?” Gabriel looked up in confusion.

                “Er, a visit. From Earth,” The Angel answered, looking him straight in the eye as if to say _Yes, it’s the guy we let go back down because he just wouldn’t die and I know you aren’t a fan but please oh please this is not my fault I didn’t mean to answer. I mean I did, but I didn’t know who it was and if I knew I really wouldn’t have._

                “Aziraphale?”

                She nodded.

               “What does he want?”

                “Says he needs a word.”

               

***

 

                Aziraphale paced a bit at reception. He really, _really_ didn’t want to be here. He had been hoping to catch Raphael, who was a little friendlier overall and less prone to killing anyone what with those vows to be a healer or something. Yes, Raphael would have done nicely. Unfortunately for Aziraphale, Raphael was not available at the moment. _What does that even mean?_ Aziraphale wondered. No one would tell him.

                He took a deep breath and tried to look braver than he felt. He had done pretty well getting up here and scaring a few low level Angels, but one of them rushed off to get Gabriel. _At least Michael doesn’t seem to be around._ Aziraphale shuddered at the thought and hoped fervently that Gabriel thought he was still immune to demon fire.

                Aziraphale turned quickly to the sound of even, measured footsteps. Gabriel looked immaculately put together as always, but he seemed off somehow. Crowley had told Aziraphale, quite happily, about how scared Gabriel had looked after the whole demon fire fiasco. But Aziraphale couldn’t see or feel any fear coming from him at all now. The Principality braced himself and tried to appear more confident than he was. What if he had to fight them? He didn’t even have his sword! Aziraphale thought about how Crowley could always saunter into any situation and exude a kind of confidence that, while you knew he had to be bluffing, was really quite effective all the same. Thinking of Crowley reminded Aziraphale that something was wrong with the demon, and that was after all, was he was here. Crowley needed his help, though it didn’t seem that he realized it. Aziraphale felt his resolve fortify.

                “Gabriel,” He acknowledged coolly, “I hope you’re well.”

                “You can drop the act, Aziraphale,” He said with an air of boredom, “We know what you did.”

                Gabriel turned his head towards the remaining Angels in reception who suddenly realized that they had other things in other departments to check on. Departments far, far from the area they were currently in.

                “What I did?” Aziraphale said with a squeak, “I haven’t-”

                “It wasn’t you here. With the holy fire,” Gabriel interrupted. He didn’t seem mad, only resigned. This just made Aziraphale even more unsure of what was going on. If Gabriel knew, then why hadn’t he come to collect Aziraphale and finish the job?

                “It doesn’t matter,” Gabriel said before Aziraphale could respond, “Ineffable plan, right? It hardly matters anymore.”

                “Are you quite alright?” Aziraphale asked tentatively. He wasn’t Gabriel’s biggest fan after what had happened, but clearly this was an Angel in pain. Whatever else Aziraphale might be, he was a bit soft. He did not like to see anyone in pain.

                “Oh sure. Yes. Why wouldn’t we be?” Gabriel replied sarcastically, “Oh right. Everything we’ve been working towards well, _forever_ just gone. No new plan, no idea what we’re supposed to be doing. Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

                “Well,” Aziraphale bristled, “You might want to take that up with Her. It isn’t my ineffable plan and anyway if this all _wasn’t_ the plan from the start I’m sure She would have let it be known that-”

                Gabriel held up a hand. “What do you want, Aziraphale?” He seemed almost…tired.

                “I need to know what you did to Crowley. And how to fix it,” He said firmly.

                “Crowley? The demon?” Gabriel was genuinely confused, “Not us. Whatever is wrong with your boyfriend wasn’t done by our side.”

                “No? You’re quite sure?” Aziraphale felt the wind go out of his wings.

                “Heaven has bigger issues to deal with right now. Between Armageddon not actually happening and you never being properly punished, things have been a little chaotic,” Gabriel paused, “Which does beg the question. After everything, why didn’t _you_ fall _?_ ”

                “Fall? I, well I really don’t know,” Aziraphale tried hard not to think about that one to be honest. What did it matter? He was still an Angel, for all the good that did him, “Does it really matter?”

                “No, not really. It’s just another thing we get to chalk up to Her great Ineffable Plan,” Gabriel said sarcastically, “Why are you here, brother? Heaven hasn’t interfered with you since…” He made some waving hand gesture, “Anyway, even if you _do_ deserve it for everything you’ve done, we just don’t have a man power right now.”

                “Well someone has,” Aziraphale mumbled to himself, “Is Raphael here? Maybe he can help.”

                Gabriel just pointed at the globe floating nearby. “He’s down on Earth, like the rest of them. That’s what your little rebellion did to us you know. So many of the Angels decided they wanted to experience Earth, too.”    

                “Now Gabriel, I hardly thing that’s my fault if they-”

                “You did whatever you wanted Aziraphale. You ignored Heaven’s orders, went through miracles like they were water, and consorted with demons.”

                “I most certainly did _not_ consort with demons,” Aziraphale replied haughtily.

                “Fine then, demon. Singular,” Gabriel was irritated, “One or many, it doesn’t matter. You set an example others chose to follow. And Aziraphale, some of them will _never_ be able to come back.”

                “They…fell?” He whispered, eyes wide, “How? Why?”

                Gabriel shrugged. “God knows, and she isn’t telling. Metatron won’t talk about it either. They didn’t all fall. We have no idea why some did and others didn’t. If I knew this was going to happen... Well, it’s my fault in the end. I believed you, trusted you. Hundreds of years, Aziraphale. _Hundreds of years_ of you lying to us and running around with a demon. Michael warned me, but I ignored the pictures. I thought you must have had an innocent explanation for it, but no. You betrayed us.”

                “Gabriel, I-” Aziraphale was at a loss. He had never considered the consequences of his actions here in Heaven. True, Gabriel wasn’t the best boss, but he had meant well. He had been following the Great Plan, the one She had set them all on. He had been supportive of Aziraphale’s ‘hard work’ and had even (almost) promoted the Principality once decades ago. And Aziraphale had caused him pain. “I’m so sorry.”

                “It’s done,” He said wearily, “I have too much to do up here to worry about you and a rogue demon. You’re still one of us brother, but you don’t belong here anymore. Not after what you’ve done.”

                Aziraphale nodded. Somehow Gabriel’s grief and pain hurt so much more than his fury and anger.

 

 

***

 

               

                Aziraphale enjoyed a good glass of wine, but he rarely allowed himself to get inebriated. Unless, of course, it was a social thing. And the only person he was social with was Crowley, which was clearly out of the question at this point. _There’s a first time for everything_ he thought as he opened a second bottle of wine. It wasn’t even a particularly good wine, but then Adam had done his best at restoring the book shop and its contents.

                Aziraphale sat down in his armchair, wine bottle in one hand and phone in the other. He had been debating calling Crowley for hours. Having no idea what he would even say, Aziraphale resigned himself to getting drunk. He wondered if this was something Agnes Nutter had seen coming and wished, not for the first time, that he had a few more of her prophecies to guide him. There was always Adam, he supposed. Adam had the ability to change reality. He had given Aziraphale a body. Surely he could fix whatever had gone wrong with Crowley. _Not anymore. Adam wasn’t the antichrist anymore._ So Adam was out as well. The witch finder army was out as well. All those years paying for a force that never really existed. Whenever Aziraphale had gotten into trouble it was always Crowley there to help. The Principality drank what little remained in the wine bottle.

                In his 6000 years of existence, Aziraphale had never felt so alone.

 

***

 

                Crowley blinked a few times, adjusting to the lighting in his room. Sleep had helped immensely and the headache was finally gone. He cautiously looked around his flat. _No Angel._ He hadn’t known what to make of that really, an Angel popping up in his flat. What did he say his name was? _Aziraphale_. It sounded almost familiar, but then who knew. Perhaps he had run into this Angel once or twice before the fall. It was a long time ago. Aziraphale certainly knew him, having called Crowley by name. He walked down the hallway and glanced at the plants.

                They were growing beautifully, not that Crowley would tell them that. He picked up the spray bottle and paused. No need. The Angel had watered them yesterday. Crowley set it back down and walked over to his television set. He wondered if Hell had any new assignments for him. He felt anxious somehow. He needed to know what to do. Direction, yes. That’s what he needed. Crowley turned it on and waited. He was sure someone would contact him soon.

 

 

***

 

                Aziraphale might not be welcome in Heaven anymore, but he was still an Angel. And he prided himself on that, thank you very much. He enjoyed doing the occasional miracle or blessing for humans. They were so terribly fragile after all, and so prone to mistakes. For centuries he and Crowley had played off one another, temptations here and blessings there. But in the grand scheme of things, they never really tipped the board. When it came to the truly great and the truly terrible, it was always the humans themselves pulling the strings. It was a comfort to Aziraphale that, while there were some mild temptations and inconveniences the humans had to deal with thanks to Crowley, he wasn’t evil enough to have actually been responsible for all of the bad he was given commendations for.

                Which is why Aziraphale was so surprised when terrible things began to happen with alarming frequency, and all of them had the sulfuric aftertaste of demonic intervention. He had assumed that another demon was here mucking things up and had almost called Crowley to ask. It had been two months since that day, and it was complete radio silence from the demon. Aziraphale had attempted to call him once or twice, but no one ever picked up. It would have bothered him more if he had the time to actually focus on it. As was, Aziraphale was up to his neck in horrible things that needed to be fixed. Unfortunately, whoever was taking over Crowley’s old job was far less inclined to give the Angel a heads up, and so he was rarely able to stop the terrible things from happening. At best, Aziraphale helped to mitigate the damages. It meant a few less died in a shooting or fire, but he couldn’t save them all. He prevented the coup from turning into a long bloody war, but he was too late to stop the assassination.

                It was only by chance that he happened to be walked past an office building one day when he felt it. He could feel the demonic energy in the area. Trying not to panic, he quickened his step, trying to isolate and track the feeling. He almost froze when he saw the man, an average looking middle-aged pocket protector type, walking into the building with a gun in his hand. Without a second thought Aziraphale snapped his fingers. The clearly disgruntled man was now armed with a rather nice Nerf gun. It was going to make for some pretty awkward moments when he got to where he was going, but at least no one was going to die. Aziraphale sighed in relief.

Then he gasped in shock. Crowley was standing not five meters away from him and glaring. Crowley walked purposefully towards him. Aziraphale could feel his heart racing. _Does he remember? Did he do this? He looks so angry._

“Aziraphale,” Crowley hissed, “What did you do?”

“My dear boy, I prevented a certain catastrophe! That gentleman could have hurt someone.”

“That was the point!”

“You,” Aziraphale blanched, “You did that?”

“Of course I did, what did you expect me to do? I’m a demon,” Crowley answered, confused. What was with this Angel? Did he not know how this whole thing worked? _Maybe he’s new_.

“You’re a demon but you _aren’t like this,_ ” Aziraphale argued, “I know you Crowley, this isn’t you.”

“Why do you keep acting like you know me?” Crowley asked incredulously, “We don’t know each other. You have no idea what I’m capable of. But if you don’t get out of here quick, you might find out.”

“Yes we do. I’ve known you for 6000 years. You are a pain. You glue coins to sidewalks and laugh at people who try to pick them up. You tie up phone lines and let air out of tires you do _not_ hurt people,” Aziraphale said with conviction, “You’re my best friend.”

Crowley didn’t know what was going on, but the longer this Angel talked the more his head hurt. “You’re an Angel. I’m a demon. We are definitely _not_ friends.” Another sharp pain and Crowley put a hand to his head.

Aziraphale gasped. He recognized those words. They were painful, and they had originally come from him. He took a step towards Crowley. He could tell the demon was in pain. “Crowley…”

“Don’t,” the demon sneered. He turned and quickly walked towards the Bentley and slid in with practiced precision. Before Aziraphale could even catch his breath, Crowley was gone.

               


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are lovely, and I do appreciate constructive criticism!

 

 

“Oh, that’s wicked,” Hastur cackled, “Two birds with one stone.”

“Maybe,” Beelzebub replied, “Who knows if he’ll even succeed.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Hastur said with a shrug, “It’s a punishment to them both either way. Though I think seeing the Angel fall would be the best punishment of all.”

“Yes, yes,” Beelzebub said, “But will he do it? Are you sure he’ll follow orders now?”

“Yes, Lord Beelzebub,” Hastur promised, “The reprogramming was a success and quite…thorough. Crowley has already been acquiring us more souls than ever.”

“Very well. Give him the instructions. And Hastur? Don’t make me regret this. I won’t let Hell be humiliated again.”

               

***

 

Aziraphale was angry. It had been building up since Crowley went missing and was now hitting a high crescendo upon seeing his friend cause so much, well, _evil_. Aziraphale had gone back to his shop, torn down the rather long and purposefully confusing hours sign, and locked the door behind him. He didn’t have time to play pretend shop owner at the moment. He wanted to break something, but found himself floundering in frustration. Maybe if he broke something he wouldn’t feel quite so broken in comparison.

He walked around for a while, looking at his shop and everything in it as if judging whether or not it was worth breaking. Of course he couldn’t harm his books. That would be sacrilege. After 20 minutes of _Well I never liked that tea cup anyway_ and _But it would be such a mess to clean up after_. Aziraphale felt the desire to ruin something had quite left him. What remained was only a sad acceptance. Crowley wasn’t Crowley any more. And Aziraphale had no idea how to fix it.

No one had been able to help him in Heaven, and there was no one to ask on Earth.

“What am I supposed to do now?” He asked looking up, wishing She would answer. Aziraphale shook his head. When they had temporarily ~~lost~~ misplaced the Antichrist, it had felt like this. The world was ending and he didn’t know what to do. The world might not be ending this time, but as far as Aziraphale was concerned _his_ world was and that was close enough. He had been so lucky to find that book in Crowley’s car. Wonderful bit of luck that was.

 _A book was the answer last time_ , he thought hopefully. _Maybe a book could help this time, too._

Of course there were no more books from Agnes Nutter floating around, but that didn’t mean that the information he needed wasn’t in _some_ book. Aziraphale looked at the shelves and stacks of books around him. Misprinted bibles, literature, and that random line of children’s books from Adam.  So many were on theology and mythology. Maybe there was something in them?

 

***

 

“Down below is pleased with your progress, Crowley,” Hastur said through the Bentley’s radio, “Best work you’ve done in years. Numbers are way up.”

“Good,” Crowley replied, clearly distracted.

“Beelzebub has decided you’re ready for the next phase. It’s deliciously evil. You’re going to like it,” the Duke of Hell promised.

“Right, yeah. Of course,” Crowley felt his stomach drop. He would do what they asked, of course he would. Still, he didn’t see why Hell had suddenly decided to get so involved lately. It seemed that a few temptations here and there just weren’t enough these day. Crowley tried to ignore the dull ache in his head as he sped back to his flat. He didn’t know what the plan was, but that didn’t matter. It was above his pay grade at any rate.

 

***

 

There was not, in fact, a single thing he could find in any of those books. “Useless,” He mumbled, closing yet another book. Well, it was useless in this instance at least. Aziraphale gave the book a soft pat, “I’m sorry, that was mean. You’re a good book.”

He stood up and retrieved his cocoa, having gone cold long ago, and warmed it with a quick miracle. He sipped it tentatively and surveyed the room when his eyes landed on the computer. He was far from proficient, but the computer was kind enough to do as he asked when it came to taxes. Perhaps he could use it to look up this strange amnesia Crowley was experiencing? _Nothing ventured, nothing gained_ he thought to himself. Crowley probably would have laughed at the sight of Aziraphale attempting to coax the old machine into doing his bidding.

Hours later Aziraphale came up for air as it were. He had fallen down a bit of a rabbit hole and quickly lost track of time. He had to have words with his computer quite early on though, as the first link he clicked on generated so many pop ups of a, er, personal nature that Aziraphale had to threaten the computer with being dismantled should it do that again. The computer obligingly activated an ad blocker program it didn’t even have installed.

There were so many conflicting answers. Some said amnesia was forever. Others said that memories would come back with time. Aziraphale wasn’t even sure what Crowley had was amnesia, but when he tried to look up _demon forgets who I am_ the computer didn’t have a single answer for him. He supposed amnesia would have to do for now.

With no clear cut solution, Aziraphale found himself wandering online forums and listening to others who had been through something similar. Many suggested that the person be reminded of things from their past and that eventually it would help to trigger something. Aziraphale wasn’t sure that was the answer, but at this point he was willing to try anything. The only problem was that Crowley refused to have anything to do with Aziraphale. How was he going to help Crowley if he couldn’t get anywhere near him?

Aziraphale was setting his mug on the counter of his back room when he heard the bells from his front room jingle.  “I’m sorry but we’re quite closed,” He said, rushing towards the door, “Oh. Crowley.”

The demon stood inside the bookshop and looked at Aziraphale like he was trying to solve a problem. He tilted his head slightly and shifted uneasily.

“You said you know me,” Crowley said slowly.

“Yes dear boy, of course I do,” Aziraphale answered, the shock giving way to joy at seeing Crowley there, in his shop, for the first time in what felt like ages, “Since the beginning.”

“I don’t remember that,” Crowley whispered simply, “Why don’t I remember?”

Aziraphale looked at him mournfully, “I don’t know.”

Crowley looked around the shop, everything familiar and foreign all at once. He turned back towards the Angel. “Hm, what?”

“I said would you like a cup of tea? Maybe we could talk about it, see if we can’t jog that memory of yours.”

“Alright then.”

 

***

 

“It went fine,” Crowley said, repeating himself for a third time, “I just don’t know what’s going on with this Angel. He’s got a few screws loose or something. What does Hell want with a daft Angel?”

“That isn’t something you need to concern yourself with, Crowley,” Hastur replied.

“Right. But I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do. How exactly does one make an Angel fall? It’s not like I can go right up to him and say ‘ _Oh hey. Heaven’s a bit rubbish, yeah? You should come on down to Hell. Much more fun there_.’”

“For some reason he has a soft spot for you. Use it.”

“Right,” Crowley muttered as he switched off the radio. Of all the assignments Hell had given him over the years, this one had to be the worst.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took me a bit to get this one out. Hopefully you like it. This story has managed to go off in a direction I didn't really intend, but I feel like I need to see it through to the end now. I just need Aziraphale and Crowley to cooperate with me a bit.
> 
> As always, I'd love some feedback or constructive criticism. I don't have a beta, and I'm writing this with young children yelling and running around me, so if you see a typo here or there, forgive me.

 

 

                Aziraphale hummed to himself as he selected a wine for the evening. Crowley had been stopping by with some regularity recently, and it almost felt like things were getting back to some sense of normalcy. Crowley still couldn’t remember a thing, but he at least was slightly less hostile than before. He never stayed for very long, but Aziraphale found himself looking forward to those few hours he might get. Sometimes they would discuss what was going on in the world, or some new book or food Aziraphale had found. This was all safe territory for them.

                Once, and only once, had Aziraphale brought up Crowley’s work for Hell. He was still torn up thinking about the deaths Crowley had been responsible for. The demon had shrugged and simply said that orders were orders. When Aziraphale continued to look upset, Crowley had quickly explained that he was on a more long-term assignment now, no deaths required. Aziraphale had relaxed a little at that, though Crowley didn’t know why seeing the Angel in a state of discomfort bothered him so much.

                Oh yes, and the pain. Crowley was getting quite used to it. Some visits were relatively pain-free. Those were the nights he sat with Aziraphale for hours discussing all manner of philosophic topics. He gently and methodically guided the conversations towards the mistakes made over the millennia concerning Heaven, Hell, and Earth. He had even mentioned once or twice, as casually as he was able, that he felt She had made several mistakes and maybe there was no plan at all. Aziraphale entertained his musings up to a point, but so far Crowley had not been able to plant the seeds of real _doubt_ in him.

                But other nights…other nights Aziraphale was weary of such discussion. This was one of those nights. Perhaps it was the wine or nostalgia. Maybe it was that Aziraphale simply longed for all of the missing parts of his best friend. Whatever the reason was, the Principality wanted to talk history. Personal history. Crowley knew that this visit wasn’t going to last long.

                “Do you remember Rome?” Aziraphale asked.

                “ _Do I remember Rome?_ That’s a stupid question. I don’t remember much of anything,” Crowley rolled his eyes from his spot lounging on the settee.

                Aziraphale winced. Bad choice of words. “Well, I ran into you there. You were there for a temptation, Caligula I think. I don’t know the last time I was there. Petronius had a new restaurant. They served the most amazing – “

                “Oysters,” Crowley interjected.

                “Yes!” Aziraphale answered excitedly, “Do you remember?”

                “No, no really,” Crowley said, “You’ve mentioned this before.”

                “Oh,” Aziraphale looked dejected, “I’m sorry. They _were_ delicious. I didn’t realize I had already told you about it.”

                The Principality took a sip of his wine and sighed. He didn’t know it was possible to miss someone who was sitting right across from him. But as much as Crowley was, well, Crowley… he also was not. Without his memories Crowley didn’t seem able to really relax. He was on edge, though he clearly tried to hide it. And he was probably doing a good job, but it’s hard to hide anything from someone who had known you for 6000 years. Though he was still a good conversationalist in some respects, Aziraphale missed the playful banter they had perfected though the millennia.

                You’re a little different now,” Aziraphale said softly, “without your memories. You’re you, but it’s like part of you is just – I don’t know.” He shrugged, “I do hope you get your memories back. You know, I’ve always admired you, Crowley.”

                “Admired me? Why?” Crowley drank the rest of his wine and rolled the glass around lazily in his hand. It was odd to listen to someone talk about him like this, but he found himself more than a little interested in what the Angel was going to say.

                Aziraphale shrugged. “You were just _you_. Clever, funny, and beneath it all, kind. Even when you hated me telling you so.” He paused, clearly lost in thought for a moment before rousing himself with a shake of his head, “I remember how upset you were that God was planning to drown everyone. Especially the children.”

                “Well that was particularly cruel, don’t you think?” Crowley asked, continuing to chip away at that endless faith the Angel possessed.

                “Ineffable plan,” he answered with a small, sad smile, “You genuinely cared. You rescued me more than once. It was as if I had my own personal guardian Ang –er , devil. France. London. Even helped to make Hamlet a success because I liked it.”

                Crowley didn’t remember any of that. He was beginning to get a flash here and there, but it was gone so quickly he didn’t know what he had seen. He wasn’t even sure it _was_ a memory. There was one thing he was sure of though. As he watched Aziraphale wistfully recalling scenes from his past, the Angel was practically glowing. _He loves me_ , Crowley realized with a start. He had known the Angel had a soft spot for him, he had been told as much when Hastur had given him this assignment. Crowley was to use that to ensure Aziraphale’s fall. Still, it felt a bit like cheating.

                “So you say,” Crowley replied insolently, “Far as I know you could be making it all up.”

                “My dear boy, I would _never_ ,” Aziraphale gasped, “I’m an Angel. I do not lie.”

                Crowley’s only response was to shrug. He looked at his empty glass and debated having another, but decided against it. He set his glass down on the table and slowly meandered around the bookshop, hoping to avoid more of this headache inducing conversation. Aziraphale followed curiously, glass in hand. “Bit musty in here, isn’t it?” Crowley asked, “Dunno why you keep so many books. Haven’t you read them all by now?”

                “Er – yes,” Aziraphale answered. He tried not to take the slight personally. It wasn’t _musty_ , it just… smelled like old books. But it was a perfectly lovely smell as far as he was concerned, “Why don’t I just like a candle then? That should help a bit.”

                Aziraphale began to rummage around for a sweet smelling lavender candle he had been gifted some time ago. He knew it was here somewhere, but he never actually bothered to use it. “Ah, here it is,” He said proudly after finding the candle wedged into the clutter by his computer. He set it on the counter and lit a match.

                Crowley had been quietly looking out the window. This job was more than he signed up for. Sure, he was a fallen Angel himself, but he had no idea why he had fallen when others did not. Sure, he asked questions. Hung out with the wrong crowd. Clearly wasn’t Her biggest fan to say the least,. It hadn’t been intentional though, his falling. And it wasn’t as if it came with an owner’s manual. He assumed that the questioning was what did it, but he had been working to get Aziraphale to question things with zero sign that it was doing any go – er – bad. Maybe Aziraphale couldn’t fall. Maybe he got to play under a different set of rules. Wouldn’t be the first time She didn’t play fair. And Aziraphale just seemed so _good_. What exactly was Hell going to do with him if he fell anyway? Use him as their new interior decorator? Crowley briefly imaged the Angel trying to decorate Hell in nothing but tartan and fought to suppress a traitorous grin.

                Crowley was so deep in thought that he hadn’t heard a word the Angel said. He probably would have continued internally griping about his less-than-awesome assignment from down below if he didn’t smell –was that…burning? Crowley didn’t know why he felt as if his stomach had dropped, much like the feeling one gets when one goes down a particularly steep rollercoaster but without any of the joy and excitement, all Crowley knew was that when he turned and saw the flame happily dancing on the registry counter  he didn’t stop to think. He immediately snapped his fingers and sent the entire candle to the nether.

                “What was that for?” Aziraphale said with a pout, “I think lavender is quite a pleasant smell.”

                Crowley couldn’t explain why he had done it. Not to himself and certainly not to the Angel. The pain in his was excruciating now, and it took everything he had to pretend he was okay. “Nah, the musty smell is fine. Suits you. Whatever,” He waved a hand dismissively in the air, “I’m off.”

                “Oh,” Aziraphale looked down sadly, “Yes, I’m sure you have things to do. Are you quite alright?”

                “Yeah. Fine. Never better,” Crowley said through the fog of pain as he opened the door, “Tickety-boo.”

                Aziraphale watched him go, not quite sure what had just happened.  

 

***

 

                To say Hastur was not pleased would be a grave understatement. He had wanted to simply destroy Crowley when he discovered how the traitor had survived, but Beelzebub had squashed that idea. Armageddon hadn’t gone as planned, but that didn’t mean down below could let off now. Surely it would happen at some point. And Beelzebub wasn’t about to decrease their numbers unnecessarily. Reprogramming Crowley seemed to be mutually beneficial. Hastur was able to hurt him thoroughly, and Beelzebub regained a loyal demon. Still, Hastur had wanted more. In truth, he didn’t think there was anything Crowley could do, or anything that could be done _to_ Crowley to make up for Ligur. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try.

                Of course, Hastur wasn’t an especially bright demon by anyone’s standards. It had been Beelzebub’s suggestion that Crowley be the one to bring down the Angel. Poetic justice, she had called it. It would cause them both pain _and_ have the added bonus of another demon for the cause. Hastur couldn’t care less, but he had deferred to Beelzebub in the matter.

                As he watched Crowley and Aziraphale, Hastur couldn’t help but wonder if they had sent the most incompetent demon on, what Beelzebub claimed, was a very important mission. Crowley had been quite well-thought of in Hell. He had lots of commendations to prove it; though Hastur thought they may not all be deserved.

                Hastur watched Crowley leave the bookshop and drive away. This was taking far too long, and if it went wrong Beelzebub was going to blame him. Perhaps it was time to take things into his own hands. He might not be able to give Beelzebub an Angel’s soul, but if Hastur killed Aziraphale that would still mean Heaven was down an Angel. _Which is nearly the same as Hell gaining a demon_. Hastur thought it over again, decided his math checked out perfectly, and retreated back to the shadows.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be going on vacation soon so I'm trying very hard to finish this story up without it feeling terribly rushed. Please leave a comment and let me know how I've done! 
> 
> As always, no beta, so please forgive any typos and errors. They are all mine.

 

                _Tickety-boo?_ Crowley thought incredulously. It left a bad taste, a phrase he wouldn’t ever have thought of let alone allowed to come out of his mouth. All Crowley knew was that he needed to get out of that blasted bookshop. He had driven off quickly in the Bentley, narrowly missing several pedestrians and zipping along doing circles around London on the M25.

                Crowley liked to talk a big game, but that fact of the matter was that he, at heart, was a bit of a coward. He was an intelligent coward, however, and that worked out to his benefit more than once. He was very familiar with the feeling of fear, could smell it a mile away, and took necessary precautions when needed. It was at the core of his being, his desire to _live_ and _stay alive_. He had, as a result, quite the well-tuned fight or flight response. It was the reason he made many decisions over the years which some might consider questionable but he had considered necessary for survival. Not that he remembered that, but it was neither here nor there at the moment. The fact was, Crowley knew fear. They were old, old friends.

                But whatever it was that Crowley couldn’t remember was like fear’s bigger, stronger brother. It was soul wrenching terror, and he had felt it quite clearly the second he saw the small, unassuming flame. He did not think, did not hesitate. He had miracled it away before he was even able to name what he was feeling. Aziraphale had looked confused, but how was Crowley to explain? As if he the demon had any reason to fear fire. It might have been irritating and a time consuming annoyance, but the worst thing a fire could do was discorporate him.

                Fear he understood, but it wasn’t fear alone that sent him fleeing from the musty bookshop and befuddled Angel. It was his immediate, thoughtless need to _protect_. Seeing Aziraphale so near the flame must have cracked something inside, clearly. Why on earth would he want to protect some Angel? Even if the Angel in question tended to be rather nice to a demon. Crowley was only there because he was trying to tempt the Angel into falling. Not that it was going spectacularly well, but the wine was nice and the conversation wasn’t bad either. Crowley’s head throbbed and he cranked up the radio as if Freddie Mercury’s singing could somehow alleviate the pain. _Something is definitely wrong with me_.

 

***

 

                Aziraphale sighed. Perhaps he had pushed too hard this time. He cleared up the glasses and bottles. It was hard not to tell Crowley everything though. He wanted to sit him down and show him a timeline of existence, force Crowley to take it all in and rattle it around in his head until something shook loose. Aziraphale was trying to be patient, but he wasn’t sure how much time they had.

He may not be the most intelligent being in existence, but Aziraphale had been around for, well, the entirety of Earth’s history. He knew how things worked for the most part, and he knew how Crowley worked in particular. This amnesia or whatever it was simply did not happen one day for no reason. Having ruled out Heavenly causes, Aziraphale felt quite sure that someone from down below was involved.

                Initially, he was comforted to find that Crowley’s orders did not demand further bloodshed or death of innocent humans. It pained him to think Crowley was capable, though that was something that was done rather more often centuries ago. Still, they had moved past that. Crowley had mentioned some long-term assignment, which filled Aziraphale with intense relief. That is, until Aziraphale realized that assignment must have something to do with him.

                It was the only explanation for the demon’s sudden 180 in behavior. Besides, the truth of the matter was that Crowley wasn’t exactly subtle. His strange segues into the righteousness (or lack thereof) of God was pitifully blatant and transparent. Which was strange in and of itself really, because Crowley was _the serpent_ and tactful tempting was kind of his thing. When had he gotten so bad at it? Or was it just that Aziraphale knew him too well? It took everything Aziraphale had in him to avoid rolling his eyes in exasperation or otherwise letting Crowley know he knew. Instead, he had taken it in stride and gently attempted to guide the conversations towards their shared history. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be doing any good.

                If Hell really had given Crowley some job or another to do involving him, Aziraphale wasn’t sure how much longer he had until they showed their hand. And what would it be? Pain and torture before being completely done away with? Even a simple discorporation would be upsetting, as he had no guarantee anyone in Heaven would be willing to give him a body. It was all beginning to make him a little jumpy to be honest. He certainly wasn’t going to Fall, but what happened if he didn’t? Would they do something else to Crowley? Something worse?

                Aziraphale realized he had been staring off into space for a solid hour without moving. He needed a new plan.

 

***

 

                Crowley had finally calmed down enough to head back to his flat. He defiantly parked right in front of the NO PARKING sign and strode inside to find Hastur standing in his living room menacingly.

                “Hastur,” Crowley said with false enthusiasm, “To what do I owe the pleasure of your personal visit then?”

                “We’ve given you time, Crowley,” He said simply, “And you’ve failed.”

                “I haven’t failed, I just haven’t succeeded yet. There’s a difference. I’ll get there before long.”

                “I’ve been monitoring you,” Hastur said, voice dripping with disapproval, “You don’t seem to be getting very far. It’s taking too long, this assignment wasn’t meant to be all socializing. Is he any closer to Falling than he was a month ago?”

                “Well, you know,” Crowley shrugged, “Tempting someone isn’t always easy. Not that I expect you to understand, it’s just that really I’m the authority on it, aren’t I? The snake who tempted Eve?”

                “I think you’ve lost your touch. It doesn’t matter, you’re being recalled.”

                “What, now?” Crowley asked, surprised. Sure it was slow going, but Hell wasn’t usually so pushy on timelines. They just tended to be pleased with the eventual results, even if a tempted didn’t mean the soul was really acquired for several years, or decades.

                “Don’t see it as a demotion,” Hastur’s grin full of malice, “Think of it as a lateral move. You’re going back to Hell. I’ll take care of the Angel.”

                “That sounds like a spectacularly bad idea, Hastur,” Crowley replied casually, trying to belie the dread he felt creeping into his voice, “If I can’t get the Aziraphale to fall I doubt you’ll manage it.”

                “He doesn’t need to fall. He just needs to die,” the demon said simply, “S’not your problem anymore. Get yourself together and head home. I’ll be there shortly.”

                Crowley just nodded, not trusting himself to speak. A few moments later Hastur was gone, and Crowley felt the violent resurgence of the feelings he had only just managed to dispel.

 

***

 

                Hastur wasn’t thrilled with the turn of events, but at least he was getting the opportunity to kill someone. It wasn’t Crowley, at least not yet, but he supposed offing an Angel wasn’t a bad alternative. He couldn’t wait to see the look Beelzebub’s face when he was able to report he had killed an Angel. He gave a small smile to the container he held in his arms. With the body swapping option off the table, Aziraphale was going to have a hard time avoiding the fate both Hell and Heaven (at one point if not currently) had sentenced him to.

                It was late. Most of the humans had long since returned home leaving few around to notice a rather smelly demon (some would say he smelt of poo) opening the door to a very old bookshop despite the sign showing that it was, very much, closed for business.

 

               


	8. Chapter 8

 

 

                Crowley, as internally torn as he felt, _had_ meant to return to Hell as ordered. He was even on his way to the front entrance. He turned recent events over and over in his head, trying to make sense of it all. It didn’t add up. He knew, deep down, that something had been wrong for a while though he tried to ignore it. And now he was being recalled back to Hell, while Hastur was finishing up a job Crowley had botched. Crowley’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as the Bentley blasted yet another Queen song. He was _meant_ to head in, he really did. Eventually. They hadn’t really put a time on it, had they? It probably wouldn’t matter, and he was good at being fashionably late anyway. Hastur would be mad, but somehow Crowley found himself less than concerned when the Bentley drove past the right exit and continued to speed dangerously fast towards a shabby little bookshop in Soho.

 

***

               

“Crowley?” Aziraphale called out. He had heard the door open and left the backroom to investigate. Perhaps Crowley was feeling better now. He had been in quite the state when he last left.

                “Not quite,” Hastur sneered, “No need to worry about him anymore, is there? You should be a bit more concerned about yourself right now.”

                Aziraphale’s eyes narrowed. He really did prefer to avoid fighting, but it didn’t seem like _that_ was going to be an option. “What did you do to him?” He asked instead, voice full of righteous fury.

                “Not nearly enough,” The demon answered, “Not yet at any rate. I’ll get back to him, after I’m through with you.”

                Hastur quickly emptied the container onto the floor between them, demon fire blazing upwards in a swirling, beautiful column. _Beautiful, but quite deadly_. Aziraphale instinctively took a step backwards. It was a testament to how angry Aziraphale was that he didn’t spare a thought for his books. All he could think about was what the demon had said. The way he had threatened Crowley in an off-handed manner and was, more than likely, responsible for whatever had happened to him.

                There wasn’t much time for pondering it before the demon dove at him.

               

***

 

                The Bentley’s tires squealed to a stop in front of the bookshop. Crowley stepped out quickly and took long, purposeful strides towards the door. It was only when he was close enough to see through the window that Crowley noticed the flames dancing within the shop. His vision went sideways a bit, not dissimilar to that unpleasant feeling of standing up far too quickly while being a touch under the weather. _No._ He thought panicking. _No no no!_

                Crowley braced himself and entered the shop. The pillar demon fire was, for the moment, contained to the center of the small room, but it had already burned through the ceiling and was spreading quickly from there. The déjà vu was overwhelming. His eyes darted around the room, but saw no one. Whatever part inside of him that had cracked a little previously had now fully broken to pieces. He remembered. He remembered it all. Crowley’s head still hurt, but it was a dull pain and one he ignored to focus on what was in front of him. _I failed him. Again._

                Turning to leave, Crowley almost stumbled over a small pile of ashes on the floor. He knelt down gingerly beside them, ignoring the fire, and stared. They had done it. They had actually done it. _They had killed his best friend_. He stood up quickly and steadied himself.  And oh, but Crowley was going to make them all burn. He would burn the whole of Hell and Heaven and everything in between and he would go down burning with them if that’s what it took to make them pay for this.      

“I’m – I’m terribly sorry, dear,” A voice behind him said softly. Aziraphale had come out of the back room, several books in his arms and very clearly not expecting anyone else to be there. “I hadn’t really intended on smiting anyone you see, but he really didn’t leave me any other option.”

                Crowley felt all of the anger drain from his body at the sound of Aziraphale’s voice. He turned quickly to look at him. _Alive. He’s alive._

The Angel was visibly nervous. His shop was continuing to fill with demon fire that he couldn’t seem to put out (and oh how he had _tried_ ) and the only escape route was blocked by his best friend who may or may not try to kill him for smiting Hastur. Aziraphale stood silently, resigned. He might have been able to raise a hand to Crowley a long time ago – maybe – but definitely not now. Crowley walked quickly towards Aziraphale, who braced himself.

Aziraphale had imagined a lot of possibilities in that moment. Most of them involved some variation of physical pain and fire. He had never been so happy to be wrong. _Crowley was hugging him_. Aziraphale smiled with relief and hugged Crowley back with everything he could, though it wasn’t quite as easy as it would have been without the books getting in the way. Crowley pulled back slightly and rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s.

“I think it’s time to get out of here, don’t you, Angel?”

 

***

 

                Aziraphale sat reading on what was, despite Crowley’s opinion on the matter, a fairly uncomfortable settee. They had been able to save some of his books thanks to a few well-timed miracles, but most of them had gone up in flames. He wished, not for the first time, that Adam still had a _little_ bit of power over reality. Maybe just enough to fix up a bookshop again. Aziraphale sighed. The last few weeks had been awkward to say that least. It wasn’t the first time he had been to Crowley’s, but now he was practically living there. No one had shown up to deal with either of them, which just made the demon extremely jumpy. Aziraphale had wanted to return to the bookshop, or what was left of it, to assess the damages. Crowley was adamantly against it. It had been quite the row between the two of them, if one could call the coolly delivered barbs a row. Still, it was the closest they had come in millennia.

                The bickering over it had gone on for days when Crowley had simply looked down at the floor and told Aziraphale “ _I can’t lose you again.”_ Aziraphale didn’t bring it up again. Crowley had seemed perfectly calm when he led them out of the burning shop and Aziraphale hadn’t realized, hadn’t stopped to consider, exactly how much it had all affected his demon friend.

                Still, it had been _weeks_ and Aziraphale was getting antsy. He needed to stretch his wings. Or at the very least, he needed to go visit that bakery down the street. The only thing Crowley seemed to stock at his flat was booze, and as nice as that was, Aziraphale needed more. He was debating the best choice of words to tempt – er, convince his friend when Crowley walked into the room.

                “I’ve had a letter. From below,” He said flatly.

                Aziraphale perked up at this, pushing thoughts of delicious pastries aside, “And? What did they say dear?”

                “I’ve been given a commendation. For disposing of a rogue demon,” Crowley sneered, “Wasn’t even me! They have to know it wasn’t me. Probably just trying to save face.”

                “Yes, quite,” Aziraphale agreed, “They’ve tried twice now and failed both times. Maybe they’ve given up?”

                “Maybe,” Crowley said with a shrug. He wanted to believe it, but wasn’t sure he could, “The rest of the letter is congratulating me on retirement. Retirement! What does that even mean for a demon?”

                “I think,” The Principality said, reaching for the letter and looking it over, “it means you can relax. At least a little bit.”

                “Relax. Hard to relax around here.”

                “I’m not surprised, my dear. Your furniture is mostly to blame for that though.”

                “Hey now,” Crowley quipped, “Just because it isn’t covered in tartan doesn’t make it terrible.”

                “It isn’t the look, at least not _entirely_. It’s just so terribly uncomfortable. I don’t know how you manage it.”

                “Well I don’t spend all my time on the settee. My bed is a lot softer if you want to try that,” Crowley smirked.

                “Well, I –“ Aziraphale’s cheeks reddened slightly. He tried not to think of the implications there. They had been ignoring anything to do with their feelings for so long that Aziraphale wasn’t sure that they hadn’t already missed their opportunity. He loved Crowley, loved everything about the neurotic, sweet, and slightly incompetent demon. Still, he had held back all these years, afraid of what would happen if they actually allowed themselves to point out the rather large elephant in the room.

                Crowley knew Aziraphale felt the same. He had seen it so clearly when the Angel had recounted stories from their past. The Principality practically shone with love, and so Crowley wasn’t as afraid of rejection as he might have been before. He smiled at the blush spreading over Aziraphale’s cheeks. 

                “I think we’ve been beating around the bush as it were for long enough, don’t you?” Crowley asked softly, “No one is coming after us now. They don’t care what we do anymore. We’re on our own side, remember?”

                “Our own side,” Aziraphale squeaked as Crowley sat beside him and inched closer, “Well, I suppose that, I mean Heaven already gave up on me so. How much more damage could it possibly cause?”

                “My thoughts exactly,” Crowley whispered as he leaned in and claimed the Angel’s lips with his own.

                If he had expected fireworks and such Aziraphale might have been upset. As was, he didn’t really know _want_ to expect, so that sweet, if slightly messy, kiss was anything but a disappointment. Crowley pulled back to look at Aziraphale, to make sure that yes, this was what he wanted too. That he wasn’t moving too fast. Aziraphale let out a soft whimper when Crowley pulled away and opened his eyes. He waited approximately half a second for Crowley to finish what he started, and then decided to take matters into his hands.

                Aziraphale was, for the most part, fairly inexperienced. So when he launched himself at Crowley it was pure luck that he actually managed to kiss him on the lips while simultaneously tripping awkwardly and falling off the couch, taking the demon down with him.

                Crowley chuckled into the kiss, “I’ve created a monster.”

                “Temptation accomplished,” Aziraphale whispered breathlessly as he focused on the kiss, reaching up to cup Crowley’s cheeks in his hands. Every part of him felt like it was on fire and oh, why had they waited so long for this?

 

***

 

                Sometime later they had, per Crowley’s suggestion, moved things to the bed. Aziraphale had been relieved to find it was as comfortable as promised, and Crowley was pleased to find that Aziraphale had loosened up a little on the whole purity thing. It had been messy, and a bit awkward, but neither complained. And after…nothing happened. No Angels showed up to smite them, no demons appeared to drag them to hell. No apocalypse, no judgement, the Earth spun on. Aziraphale didn’t Fall, and he had to admit he was slightly concerned about that. No, nothing had happened.

                The demon was sleeping peacefully now, arms wrapped around Aziraphale and a leg thrown over as well for good measure. Aziraphale watched him sleep and traced a finger down Crowley’s face, then down his arm. Crowley shivered slightly and then nuzzled closer. Aziraphale wrapped the blankets tighter around them.

                As comfortable as this was, however, Aziraphale had never truly gotten the hang of sleeping. Not knowing how long Crowley would be asleep, Aziraphale decided to untangle himself and go find one of his books and a cup of tea. He slid out of the bed as quietly as he could, kissing Crowley’s forehead when the demon grumbled at the movement, and put his clothes on before heading to the kitchen. Aziraphale had just finished making his tea when he heard a soft knock on the door.

                He froze. Was it another demon? Were they after him or Crowley…or both? He steeled himself and walked over to the door, opening it with a bit more confidence than he actually felt.

                “Aziraphale!” Gabriel practically yelled, “Took a bit to find you. Did you know your bookshop burned down?”

                “Er, yes,” The Principality answered, clearly confused, “Gabriel, what are you doing here?”

                Gabriel was looking much better than the last time they had spoken. His whole demeanor just seemed more upbeat and relaxed. Aziraphale looked around to be sure, but it seemed like he was alone. And it didn’t seem like he was there for a fight.

                “I came down personally to give you your commendation,” Gabriel replied brightly, “And to make sure you knew your next set of orders. Good job on that demon by the way. Didn’t know you still had it in you. And without your sword. Heaven was very impressed.”

                “Thanks?” Aziraphale’s head was swimming, “But I thought I was done? You said I wasn’t welcome in Heaven anymore…?”

                “Well, that’s true,” Gabriel said with a shrug, “But with things the way they are we need you to act as Ambassador to Earth. You know, help guide the Angels who decide to come down here. Help keep them from falling. I won’t say I understand or condone the things you’ve done, Aziraphale, but you know this planet better than anyone.”

                “Well, I –“

                “No,” Crowley interrupted. He held onto a blanket wrapped around his waist but had otherwise not bothered to put on any of his clothes. He wrapped his free arm around Aziraphale and glared at Gabriel, “He’s retired. We both are.”

                “Well now, dear,” Aziraphale said softly, “If a wayward Angel needs my help I can’t just ignore them.”

                “Yes you can. You’re officially retired. I’m retiring you. Whatever,” Crowley argued, “Maybe we should move. Retired humans seem to favor moving away.”

                Gabriel just stood there watching the two of them, torn between disgust and horror. He didn’t know what ‘retired’ meant, but he hoped it wasn’t permanent. They continued discussing the merits of moving versus staying in London as if the Archangel wasn’t standing right there.

                Gabriel cleared his throat. “Well then,” He said awkwardly, “You know how to reach us then.”

                Crowley closed the door in his face without a word. Gabriel could hear Aziraphale admonishing the demon for his rudeness. That was definitely not how he had envisioned this going. He had rather expected Aziraphale to fall down at his feet in gratitude, not stand there awkwardly with a half-naked demon hung all over him. Gabriel shuddered and left. Aziraphale was probably not going to be pleased when random Angels began to seek him out, but Gabriel was just relieved that it was no longer his problem.

               

 

               

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've written and re-written this chapter 4 times, and no matter what it feels a bit rushed to me. I may go back and alter some things later, but for now this work is complete. Yes, the ending bit with Hastur was a bit anti-climatic, but to be honest I feel that's very in line with how the Apocalypse was done. After all the build up to it, it really ended up being a big nothing in the end. 
> 
> I've set it up in a way that I may write a sequel of sorts later with the boys living in their cottage and random wayward Angels visiting Aziraphale for guidance. The idea amuses me. I'm leaving on vacation tomorrow though, and so even if I do do a sequel it won't be for a couple weeks if I'm lucky. 
> 
> I hope that you've enjoyed this. Please leave me a comment and let me know what you think. Whether you loved it or hated it, I truly love feedback!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are <3


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